


Trent Ikithon is Dead.

by OpheliaLMX



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Character death but it's Trent Ikithon, Drabble, Gen, I never write drabbles but apparently sometimes it just happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 22:20:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18107636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpheliaLMX/pseuds/OpheliaLMX
Summary: Trent Ikithon has been defeated, and the battlefield is silent.This is the beat that follows the death. Very short and sweet.





	Trent Ikithon is Dead.

**Author's Note:**

> Unsurprisingly, I wrote this in part because of my Ikithon-era story, Strong.  
> BUT that is only one of many interpretations that would fit with this scene.
> 
> I never write drabbles, but this time I just had to.

Nott watches as Caleb drops to his knees next to the body.

The rest of the battlefield seems quiet, but with wizard types around, she knows they can’t take anything for granted. They’ll have to get Caleb to scan for any magic... But that might need to wait.

There is debris everywhere in this great, white hall of a room. Burnt books, broken shelves, the twisted and shattered remains of the golem servants. The party is faring better, but not that much better. Fjord has passed out against Caduceus and Jester is trying to heal Yasha’s leg back at the right angle. Most of them came close to death. Most still are.

The old mage, once so awful, so frightening, and so powerful in every way, looks small and sickly on the floor. His slightly yellow skin is drained of colour, pale. His fancy robes are a mess after a battering of spells and weapons, because nobody attacks the Mighty Nein and his former student is a genius.

 

Trent Ikithon is dead, but Nott still expects Caleb, battered and exhausted, to slit his throat for good measure. Light him up like he’s his own fucking funeral pyre. 

 

Instead, Caleb takes off his ratty old coat, burnt by acid and torn by golem-claws, and bundles it up. He delicately lifts the limp Ikithon’s head and rests it on the coat like a pillow, and arranges the front of Trent’s robes to cover the bloody hole to his torso that finally killed him.

“You were once good to me,” Caleb murmurs. He sniffles. “And then – pretty bad. But you were good to me, Trent. Thank you.”

Nott looks at Beau, whose mouth is hanging open just a little. She looks like she might be sick.

Caleb murmurs something in Zemnian and uses the back of his hand to wipe away tears.

“I am sorry that I disappointed…” He laughs, and it is a small, weak, dark sound. “No, that is a lie. Would that I had disappointed you sooner.”

Nott twists her hands together, words lingering in her throat, choking. She can’t help but shift a little closer, as does Beau, but Caleb pays them no mind. They watch as he wipes blood spatter from the cheek of the mage and leans down to press a kiss to Trent Ikithon’s forehead.

“Find peace, my friend,” whispers Caleb to the dead man. “You have done your duty now, for the Empire.”


End file.
